The Pleasures of Autumn (2 page)

‘We know who the thief is,’ the director of the Rheinbach museum told him. ‘Your job is to get the ruby back.’

Niall Moore sat up a bit straighter. This seemed too easy. ‘If you know who has it, surely it should be simple to recover it?’

Günter Rheinbach shook his head. ‘It is never simple. The thief was caught but unfortunately was granted bail and had an opportunity to hide it. The police have already searched and found nothing. The Fire of Autumn is officially missing.’

Niall looked around at the museum director’s office. Although it held the clutter he suspected was endemic to anyone involved in the museum world – books, computer print-outs, a box of amber fossils, a broken diamond necklace, old mahogany and leather furniture – it also contained the control panels for a state-of-the-art security system and doors with metal frames and triple deadlocks.

As a security expert, Niall knew this set-up had cost a small fortune and should have kept out thieves. There were only a handful of hackers in the world who could have broken into the Rheinbach and gotten out undetected. There was almost nothing he would have added to the system to reinforce it. Whoever pulled this off was good.

‘How did you catch him, sir?’ he asked Rheinbach.

‘Her,’ the museum director corrected him. ‘It was one of the curators. I still find it difficult to believe she did it, considering the chance we gave her. She was the youngest curator we have ever hired. At the time, we thought it was a coup. We were stealing an expert from under the noses of the other museums and art collections.’ He sighed. ‘They’re going to laugh when they hear about this.’

Rheinbach picked up his pipe, peered at the empty bowl, shrugged and put it between his lips. He looked at home sucking the curved stem. He was grizzled and turning grey, with a face weather-beaten from mountain expeditions in the Alps, which were visible through the window. He looked even more out of place in his formal business suit than Niall himself did.

‘Filthy habit, I know,’ Rheinbach said. ‘But this pipe is over two hundred years old and I cannot bring myself to throw it away.’

Niall nodded. He had his own addictions. Who was he to judge anyone else? Some day, he would stop hoping to meet that elusive woman who could match him as an equal. He would stop wasting his time chasing her through the clubs and battlefields of the world, and concentrate on being a doting uncle. In the meantime, he had a job to do.

‘Can you tell me what happened?’

Rheinbach put the pipe down again. ‘She walked in here late one night. Said hello to the night watchman as she passed him, went to the jewel room, somehow she opened the case where the Fire of Autumn is kept, took it and left. She was quite blatant, didn’t attempt to hide from the CCTV cameras. The police are authenticating the
tapes now. The mystery is how she opened the case. I’m the only person with access to the pass-code.’

‘And what she did with the jewel,’ Niall reminded him.

He scowled. ‘Yes, that too. We knew she had a passion for stones, especially this one, but we never guessed that she would do anything like this.’ Rheinbach switched his scowl to Niall. ‘The ruby is on loan to the museum. I want you to find the Fire of Autumn, before word of this gets back to its owner. Can you do it?’

Niall nodded. ‘If the price is right.’

He kept his expression neutral, but inside he was cheering. This couldn’t have come at a better time. His security company, small, select and highly specialized, was in trouble. He had lost one of his most skilled operators just after he expanded into Europe and now two more were injured. The move had been costly. This job could be the one that saved his company.

He withstood Rheinbach’s probing examination stoically. He knew that in spite of his formal suit, he didn’t look like a businessman. He was too big, too muscular, and his hair, though neatly tied back, was too long. But his background in the Irish Rangers and running his own security company made him the best in the business.

Money was something Rheinbach understood. After some intense haggling, they agreed a price for the job. Niall was to find the ruby and return it to the museum before the stone went back to King Abdullah. Piece of cake.

‘And no publicity, of course,’ Rheinbach warned, before handing Niall his copy of the file containing the thief’s details.

He glanced at the photograph on the file first. A mousy-looking woman, with large glasses and hair pulled back into one of those complicated and unflattering plaits women were so fond of. Her mouth was set in a tight line, as if someone had cracked a dirty joke and she disapproved.

She looked like someone who would fine you for returning a library book late rather than an audacious jewel thief. And she looked familiar.

He turned his attention to the personal details, and his jaw dropped.

Sinead O’Sullivan.

It couldn’t be. Sinead O’Sullivan was the niece of one of his biggest clients, the billionaire aviation magnate, Tim O’Sullivan. Their paths had crossed briefly a few months before when O’Sullivan’s daughter Summer was kidnapped. He didn’t recall ever talking to Sinead. She was just there – mousy and a bit old-fashioned. He examined the photo again. He could well believe that this woman was sought-after as a curator, but not that she was a jewel thief.

‘Are you sure she’s the thief? She doesn’t seem the type.’

‘There’s no doubt that it was her, her fingerprints are all over the place, she was seen by a witness. There is also CCTV footage of the theft,’ Rheinbach said grimly.

‘In that case, consider the jewel as good as back in your collection.’

Niall left the museum, glancing back at the building, which looked like something out of a Disney fantasy, all turrets and towers and pointed windows overlooking the lake. But looks were deceiving; this building was as secure
as Fort Knox. It was almost as deceptive as Sinead O’Sullivan’s appearance.

He considered the best way to investigate her.

Niall turned up the collar of his long woollen trench coat. Geneva was picturesque. The fountain splashed in the sunlight, but a cold wind blew down from the Alps. He took his phone off silent and it rang seconds later.

‘Damn it, Moore, do you never answer your fecking phone? I’ve been ringing you for the last hour.’ Tim O’Sullivan’s voice boomed out, startling the couple standing at a tram stop.

‘I’ve answered it now,’ Niall said. He knew that it was never a good idea to make excuses to O’Sullivan. He took it as a sign of weakness.

‘I’ve a job for you.’

‘I’m already on a job.’

‘Drop it. You’re on a retainer to me. If you don’t do the work when necessary, you’re in breach of your contract.’

Fuck. O’Sullivan paid well but he was demanding, and if Niall didn’t produce the goods, the Corkman would have no hesitation in blackening his name and his company throughout Europe. And he had an idea what O’Sullivan was ringing about.

A second later, Tim confirmed it. ‘Did you hear that those gobshites in Switzerland have arrested my niece? They’re accusing Sinead of stealing.’

‘Yes sir, I heard about that.’

‘As if my Sinead would steal their poxy jewel.’

Despite himself, Niall smiled. ‘The Fire of Autumn is hardly poxy. It’s the largest ruby in the world and worth over $50 million.’

‘Fecking nonsense, the whole thing.’ O’Sullivan made a disgusted noise. ‘Anyway, I’ve put up a million Swiss francs in bail. I want to make sure it stays safe. You’re to get to Geneva, make sure she obeys the conditions of her bail and turns up for court.’

‘That’s all?’

‘What else is there?’ O’Sullivan snarled. ‘Make sure my money doesn’t go walkabout.’

Niall’s thoughts whirled. There was no conflict of interest here, he could keep an eye on Sinead and find the ruby at the same time. Two satisfied customers. Win-win.

‘As long as you tell Sinead about it.’

He considered his next move, but it was obvious really. Sinead O’Sullivan was alone in a strange city, accused of a serious crime, under stringent bail conditions. She needed a friend. He wracked his brains, trying to remember anything he could about Sinead. He wondered if she had a boyfriend. There was something about her being a straight-A student who never got into trouble. Considering that picture, he wasn’t surprised there was nothing about boyfriends.

Moore Enterprises had one operator who specialized in seduction, but Andy was busy right now. Besides, sending in Tall Dark and Handsome was probably overkill. There was no point in overwhelming the poor girl.

Looks like he would have to do it himself.

Twenty minutes later, he had found his way to the address listed on the file. After holding the main door open for an elderly lady with two poodles, he climbed the stairs to the fourth floor apartment and knocked on her door.

When it opened, he smiled. ‘Hello, Sinead. I’m Niall Moore, your uncle sent me.’

No. No. This was not happening. Sinead closed her eyes and opened them again but he was still there. Niall Moore was standing on her doorstep, grinning down at her. She hadn’t seen him since her last night in London, when he had stared at her with such heat in his eyes that she thought she might spontaneously combust.

Unfortunately, that scorching look had been directed at her glamorous alter ego, Lottie LeBlanc, not at plain Jane museum curator Sinead O’Sullivan.

His eyes flicked dismissively over the damp towel wrapped around her head and her sensible blue woollen dressing gown before returning to her face.

‘You might want to …’ Niall brushed a finger along the edge of her chin and scooped up a creamy drop of moisturizer before offering it to her. Trying not to cringe, she scraped the gloopy substance from his index finger and rubbed it into her hands. Oh, great. She thought her day couldn’t get any more bizarre but this took the biscuit.

She had been arrested before breakfast. Had spent hours being questioned by a plodding Inspector Clouseau look-alike at the police station before her uncle Tim had arranged her release. She had come home to find that her apartment had been ransacked. A polite note from the police announced that they had taken certain items away for further examination.

With typical Swiss efficiency, an itemized list accompanied the note. Sinead shuddered when she thought of
what their forensics department might do with her scarlet rhinestone-studded corset. At least the rest of her costumes were in storage. She would have to sort them out at some stage but …

‘Sinead?’ Niall prompted, and she stepped back to allow him to enter.

He glanced around, taking in the scattered paperwork, the empty shelves where her collection of books had stood. Even the tiny excuse for a kitchen hadn’t escaped their attention. The contents of her fridge had been thoroughly searched, the bags of frozen vegetables opened, even the tray of ice cubes had been defrosted.

Niall whistled. ‘Good party, was it?’

Sinead shot him a look that would melt steel. ‘Would you like to tell me what you’re doing here?’

He ignored her glare. ‘You could say that I was in the neighbourhood. Tim said you were in some kind of trouble.’

The unwelcome sympathy in his eyes made her turn away. She didn’t want his pity. Oh god, Tim. Her determination not to cry almost broke. The awful phone call when she had to explain that she had been arrested for stealing; her uncle’s stunned silence on the other end of the line – a miracle in itself, given his encyclopaedic knowledge of swearwords – and then the torrent of expletives that had followed.

Niall dropped his holdall on the floor, shrugged out of his coat and hung it on a hook beside the door. ‘Let’s get this place cleaned up before we talk.’

She watched as Niall crossed the room and began to re-shelve her scattered books. Her inner control freak
itched to remind him to file them according to subject, but it didn’t matter now. Nothing mattered. She had been suspended from her job. The police had branded her a thief. None of her colleagues at the museum would tell her what was going on. Every one of them had politely referred her to Günter, but the director had refused to take her calls. It was her worst nightmare come true.

Well, almost her worst nightmare.

How could anyone believe that she would steal from her own collection? And to imagine that she would be stupid enough to take something like the Fire of Autumn?

The Fire was unsaleable. It would be easier to flog the Mona Lisa at Sotheby’s. A stone like that couldn’t disappear. It was ridiculous. None of the wealthy private collectors would touch it.

Throughout the long hours in the cell, she had mentally gone through her list of contacts in the stolen art world. One of them must know something. She would start contacting them tomorrow, put out a few feelers and see if anyone had heard a whisper.

‘Sinead?’

She blinked. She had zoned out again, clutching a leather-bound volume about medieval silversmiths. She couldn’t concentrate on anything. Niall was talking to her and she had missed what he was saying. He took the book from her hand and she didn’t protest when he filed it next to one about Victorian mourning jewellery. She would fix it later when she could think clearly.